


Gluttony's Liberation

by BARALAIKA



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Food Kink, Guro, Horror, Intersex, M/M, Vomiting, Vore, Watersports, Weight Gain, grotesque, mysophilia, slob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 15:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21120818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BARALAIKA/pseuds/BARALAIKA
Summary: Commission. Vergil returns to his family and succumbs to his true nature. (EXTREME HARDCORE, grotesque imagery, please don't blame me if you puke)





	Gluttony's Liberation

Gluttony ruled Vergil.

Present in many ways, it came to manifest as covetousness, an insatiable thirst for power, an obsessive eye for those around him and a stomach that could never be filled. He craved the sensation of feasting as sorely as he wanted to be strong, though years upon years of self-discipline crushed these urges to the base of his mind. Silence them? He could not. No matter how hard Vergil trained himself, he howled internally to be fed. Every hour of every day, on and on.

When he succumbed, it was only rot that he could palate.

Why this was, he did not know. A sickness of some kind, blighted in the womb. His mother’s breast curdled beneath his grasp and he adored it, to her horror and puzzlement— even Sparda himself did not know what afflicted him. Yet they did what they could to sustain the lad and when it fell to him to care for himself, he succumbed to the devil within and relented to his urges.

The creatures that he killed, he ate. Demons stank inside of refuse and infestation and Vergil savoured every bite of it. He gorged himself on sickly remains and found himself anew, free of the shackles of human propriety… and  _ ah _ , how he loved it. Too much. Far too much. Although lithe and muscular, he and his twin were one and the same.

Years passed. Decades melted into each other and when Vergil came free of one tyrant, he became his own. Urizen fed him on blood, made him whole again and beautiful, strong and handsome and haunting… and he fell to his son, bested by a whelp, humbled back to earth and a man with a family once more. He was fascinated by them. Loved them. They welcomed him into their world with open arms and while he strayed in and out of it, capricious and aloof as ever, he stayed more than he left and grew comfortable.

No longer fighting for his life. No longer scrabbling for scraps. Yet he was ravenous as he had ever been and gave in without questioning himself.

He ate pizza again. Tempted in by his mirror image, who lived a life of slovenly abandon, Vergil fell for the siren song of indulgence and allowed himself to eat human food again. The way that he did so was as calculated as he was; a single slice extracted from the pie, rolled into a cylinder… and downed in two bites. Vergil chewed with his eyes closed as if concentrating, his strong jaws far more accustomed to sinew and clods of fat. This was nothing. This was pure pleasure. He found himself moaning at times as he tilted his head back and swallowed barely-chewed bread and cheese down as if it were prey, bulging his pallid neck as if a serpent devouring a rodent.

And he was beautiful that way. Vergil was intoxicating when he sprawled on the couch, muscles thick and over-developed, finally fed as much as they needed to grow. Dante noticed how he grew, as they appeared more like each other by the day; Vergil’s hair hung around his face in grimy tangles, washing foregone after water was denied again. He smelt like Dante, too. A deep, heady, masculine musk, tinged with the slightest of sour notes when combined with too much exertion and the unmistakable stink when he uncrossed his long, gorgeous legs. The fug of unwashed cock, stale piss, ball sweat and raw, stuffy pussy radiated from him and when the moon called upon his womb, he bled freely and without care.

This was liberation.

Even as his chest began to swell and round out, Vergil did not care. He gnawed on great hunks of flesh left to rot in their kitchen, carved from he and Dante’s quarry on the job. Flayed demon flank, gouged deep, pulled open to welcome the flies and their eggs— something else to pick at and pop between his teeth, something else to savour— and left to fester until Vergil could not bear to salivate any longer. The more disgusting he could be, the truer he felt. A demonic prince, an augur of everything vile… with the regal figure to match.

It did not take long to catch up with Dante’s bulk. Vergil’s pecs, once visibly separated muscles, became beautiful, bountiful tits that bulged proudly from his rib cage and sagged towards his rounded out abdomen. He was not ripped any more. Rather, a keg of a belly began to form— all power, so solid, yet imposing and masculine. It offset his hips, widened and heavy, and his gorgeous, full ass. His thighs could crush and smother, now finally more akin to his buxom true form… and Dante went wild for him.

Dante was his worst influence. Forever offering him  _ more _ , always there to produce another slice, another slab, something else to eat and more to drink. He’d feed Vergil until he vomited, then scooped it up and fed it back to him again. He’d rub his huge bulge, kiss at his bile-dripping chin and lick his face clean with the utmost of love and tenderness, then eat whatever leavings Vergil could not manage.

Together, they made for devious, degenerate monarchs of Hell, beautiful and terrible and disgusting in equal measures. Vergil became enamoured with their stink, to the point of wiping his food in his brother’s ripe armpits to deepen the taste. Dante would piss on it, puke on it, rub his balls and his cunt and his ass on it, cram meat up his cavernous cunt and feed it to Vergil with his fingers to make sure his fattened, slovenly,  _ beautiful _ soulmate could enjoy the taste of his body in as many ways as he possibly could.

A Glutton. A depraved, vulgar glutton. Vergil gave himself to consuming whatever he desired; as long as he could drink full of Dante and slake his lust, the cut of his figure mattered no longer.


End file.
